Constellations
by madame.alexandra
Summary: After midnight, in the snow, the wilderness outside the Rebel base on Hoth feels - like an alternate universe. Leia and Han have an almost moment, and Leia contends with why she can't seem to let herself respond to him. H/L - ESB era.


_a/n: extended piece from a short snippet on tumblr._

* * *

 ** _Constellations_**

* * *

It was so late, so late in the evening – Leia didn't know what time it is, by Hoth chronos, or Galactic Standard chronos. She only knew that it was cold, and yet she was at ease with it – and the moon was out, and the stars were stunning, bright, and aggressive, with no city lights to compete with – personnel were not allowed to be out after hours and at that, personnel were not supposed to be out by themselves for fear of avalanche or frostbite emergencies –

On some evenings, though – she couldn't help it. She felt so trapped and suffocated on the ice base, and the natural world – even in a place so devoid of life as Hoth was – drew her to it like a moth to flame, because her culture had been one of preservation and wildlife appreciation, and once in a while she just needed to be outside.

She stood just beyond one of the heavy doors, stuffed inside two thermal jackets, her nose buried in a scarf and her head protected by a fur hood, and she stared up at the sky – the star formations in this region were unfamiliar to her, and she gave them names that meant something to her – so when she looked up at night, she remembered what she was fighting for –

 _That little one, with four bright stars, and one smaller red one – that's Breha; it reminds me of her,_ she thought, and that large one – _right next to Breha – that's Bail –_

Her lips moved soundlessly as she organized her thoughts, and she hugged herself, closing her eyes in a moment – she was startled by the slamming of the metal door next to her, and she grimaced, certain she was about to be hauled back inside by whoever was on watch duty –

"Hey."

The voice was cautious, careful, and Leia turned her head, stepping away from the ice wall she leaned against –

Han stood there, looking a little wary, bundled up in about as much gear as her. He cupped his hands around his face and blew into them, waving warmer air back towards his eyes and nose, and peered at her over his hands.

"What are you doing out here?" Leia asked quietly – usually, when she asked him something like that, she was stand-offish, and her tone was toxic, challenging – but tonight, it lacked that quality; she didn't want to disturb the peace, and there was something odd about his face – and his tone was so – so concerned –

"'M on watch," Han said gruffly.

Leia smiled a little wryly.

"You don't do watch," she said. "You aren't enlisted."

Han shrugged.

"Took Luke's shift," Han said.

"Oh?" Leia murmured. "And where's Luke?"

"With a woman," Han said flippantly.

"Ah," Leia nodded, her face flushing slightly.

She leaned back against the wall, and turned her head up to the sky.

"Hey, you okay?" Han asked. He shifted his weight. "I saw you come out here when I did my first walk through," he said. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck through his hooded coat. "And, uh, you been out here…a while."

"Eight minutes," Leia said, with a smooth shrug.

"That's a while, when it's this cold," Han pointed out dryly.

Leia nodded – he wasn't wrong. She blinked a few times.

"It's pretty out here," she said, her voice fading gently. "Quiet."

Han said nothing. He shifted his weight again, scuffing his foot. He took a few steps away from the door and leaned against the wall of snow next to her, wordless. He followed her gaze up to the star configurations, and cleared his throat.

"How long y'think until the Empire catches up with us?" he muttered warily.

Leia sighed.

"I never lost them," she said vaguely.

She shifted her shoulders – something about the cold, quiet night made her feel stripped, and she didn't feel the need to lie, or make herself seem – like stone. She lifted her hands, mimicking a chokehold around herself. "I always feel like … they're right here," she whispered, "strangling me."

Han didn't say anything for a moment.

Then –

"Do you ever sleep?" he asked quietly.

"No," Leia answered flatly.

She let her hands fall, and wrapped them around herself. She shivered. He reached up and brushed snow off of her shoulders, rested his hand there for a moment, and then slipped it around her, his hand curving around her arm lightly.

She didn't protest, or move away, she turned her head slightly towards him –

"Who's doing the watch, then?" she asked – _if you're out here with me?_ She thought nervously.

The snow and the night and the nothingness of this planet outside the base walls made her feel like actions and time and feelings weren't real while she stood out here, anything could happen and it would be erased by the morning –

"The watch is pointless," Han said flatly. "Anyone who comes for us, we'll see 'em from a mile away."

"The watch is to ensure no recruits are siphoning rationed supplies," Leia murmured.

Han tensed a little.

"If you can't trust your people, you ain't in a winning position," he said firmly.

"Han," Leia said softly, "insurgencies aren't made up of saints."

"Y'don't have to be a saint to be trusted," he retorted gruffly.

Leia was quiet. She tilted her head from side to side thoughtfully – he was right. Han himself was no saint – but she trusted him, even if he drove her up the wall – even if she let him get under her skin, and piss her off, because she was worried if she responded to his flirting with more flirting, it would spiral into something that could never be as serious as she wanted it to be, because he was so –

She looked up at him, and her thoughts collided –

 _but sometimes –_

"Han," she said, speaking up in a sotto voice, drawn in by the look on his face – that ethereal feeling, again, that nothing was real out here; all time was stopped, frozen with the snow and ice – preserved, and anything these snow banks and icy stars witnessed was a secret, a phantom happening.

He blinked a few times, grimaced slightly, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong – but there was nothing wrong, she'd only managed to catch him staring at her, the way he did when she wasn't looking, and it was such an indescribable look of – it was just _indescribably_ –

"I," she whispered, "really like the way you look at me."

She admitted it, and he looked startled, unprepared. He swallowed hard, and turned towards her, his arm inadvertently pulling her closer, an effect of his shift in movement.

"I like the way you look," he said hoarsely.

He looked at her wordlessly, and Leia felt her heart tighten painfully, and scramble against her ribs like something wild and untamed – she wanted him to kiss her, but she had the absurd thought that if he did, right now, she might start crying, and what a terrible burden to place on him when he thought she had it all together –

Han wrapped his other arm around her and stepped in close, leaning down for the kiss – her heart jumped, and she physically jumped, not out of fear, but nerves, or anticipation, and her ankle hit the one patch of ice she'd been avoiding all night –

She shot her foot out between Han's to try and catch her balance, he side-stepped with a grunt, caught off guard, and she fell, stumbling over her feet and falling to the snowy ground – off her feet, tailbone to the turf – and she hid her face as it turned red, gasping in shock.

When she lifted her head and peeked out, Han was crouched in front of her, grinning a little. He extended his hand, and she sat back, cheeks burning, choosing to get up on her own instead.

She looked at him, bewildered – what was she supposed to do now, pick up where he'd left off ? But – she shook her head.

"If you didn't want to kiss me, you could've slapped me," he joked dryly. "You didn't have to fall on your ass."

Leia blushed again.

"Well, I," she stammered. "I slipped."

"I saw that," Han said.

"I didn't want to slap you," she promised.

"So," Han drawled. He arched his brows, tilting his head thoughtfully. "You did want to kiss me?"

Leia clutched at her own elbows and looked away, unsure how to answer. She bit her lip, and then broke into a defeated smile – while insecurity crept in, and she thought – hell, she didn't know what to do with a kiss; she was a subtle person, but not a tentative person – she was all or nothing, and it wouldn't be just a kiss – and despite the sense of frozen time out here - if she let it spin her head, and she kissed him, she'd find herself tangled in his sheets, tangled in his arms, _drowning in him_ , for all intense and purposes –

"Never mind," she said, cool air creating a cloud in front of her lips as she breathed out. "The moment's gone," she quipped.

Han looked disappointed, but amused – and accepting. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and shrugged.

"Hey, I swept you off your feet, if you ask me, Princess," he said smoothly.

Leia laughed, a quiet, and anxious, soft sound. She shrugged, and then nodded. Han pulled his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms.

"Leia," he said quietly, "what do you want from me?"

She grit her teeth painfully, holding her hands out, palms up – and she said nothing, because she didn't know what to say – could she say that she wished she'd met him on Alderaan, when she was sixteen and itching to go wild, sneaking out of the palace with no real men to run around with –

She chewed on her lower lip lightly –

No, she couldn't – a smuggler, a nomad, this man who kept threatening to leave; who was gone one day, here the next? _Ahh,_ she couldn't tell him she looked at him, and wanted the fairytale of a lifetime – she would sound like a little girl, and in the grand scheme of what she was trying to achieve, in this war, in this revolution, she would sound selfish, and unfocused.

Duty bound her; the losses of the past few years, those that had hardened her, created a shell that she was unable to break right now, even in this lost, frozen moment under the Hoth stars.

Struggling with herself, she parted her lips –

"Well," she spoke softly, "what do _you_ want from me?"

Turned the question back on him – a technique she was such an utter pro at, and yet Han didn't bite; he was too sharp for it. He looked at her intently, his lips twitching up slightly, thoughtful, and charming.

"I asked you first, Princess," he quipped. He leaned closer, adjusting her scarf – he tucked it closer to her skin, insulating her, his eyes meeting hers swiftly, warm and enticing, and she felt his breath in her nose and brow as he said, in a low voice – "Let me know sometime."

Leia burst into an unexpected smile, turning her eyes down a little – her lashes fluttered, and she tilted her head back and laughed under her breath –

"Oh, sometime," she quoted. "Sometime," she whispered. "I'll let you know."

She was half talking to herself, keeping herself strong – she couldn't break for him right now; she just couldn't – she wasn't there yet.

"Don't take too long," Han muttered gently, straightening up – he glanced out over the snowy cliffs, cold and threatening – expansive, and unknown, and went to duck back into the base, giving her an almost unreadable look – "Come back in, Leia," he urged quietly – "Your eyes'll freeze shut."

He left, to give her a moment, she supposed – and she was still in the throes of a small laugh, thrilled to be flirted with so tamely, aching, over her inability to respond to it the way she'd have wanted to when she was a different woman, before the war, the torture, the – the devastation –

She reached up to brush her eyes with her fingers, wiping at cold, stinging tears – so, he'd noticed them, and he was right – if she stayed out here any longer, this cruel atmosphere would sear her lashes to her skin with them, and she'd have to stumble inside with only faith to guide her, and that sort of thing was a luxury she'd lost when she was nineteen.

Leia looked up at the ink sky, the crystal stars, and took a deep breath, the cold air burning her throat, cleansing through her lungs – it stung, it hurt, but it felt good, to _feel,_ and she asked the constellations if they could help her – to a future where she might be able to feel something like love, like pleasure, like girlishness – something other than pain – without stumbling right into a wall of guilt over all the souls she'd failed – the souls of Alderaan who would never feel those things again.

She licked her lips, and grit her teeth, bracing to go back in – take up her patrol, observe the watch, be the stoic foot soldier, gave herself the barest moment to go over the conversation with Han again, and imagine, in a lighter world, what she might have said to him when he asked –

 _Leia, what do you want from me?_

If this were Alderaan, and there were no war, she might have said –

 _Darling, everything._

She nearly choked on the sugar of her thoughts – she went back inside, the heavy door to the outside world closing behind her, and with the wilderness of stars locked out, the cold remained, and her moment of timelessness was gone.

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #353_


End file.
